


First Aid

by Stalene



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, First Aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:52:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stalene/pseuds/Stalene
Summary: Young Murdoc Niccals slips up whilst smuggling stolen food up to his room, and after receiving a rather deep cut it's either cauterize the wound or bleed out.





	First Aid

Murdoc Niccals, age 13, sprinted down the sidewalk, fast as his legs could carry him. He had no idea if he was still being followed, or if the old shopkeeper had finally given up on recollecting his stolen goods. It was nothing major, just a bag or two of chips Murdoc would stash away for later use. Murdoc’s quick gait slowed to a steady trot, and eventually he stopped right outside the door to his.. ‘Home’. He had prepared for this already, the clever boy cut gashes into the thin, inside fabric of his jacket to make little secret pockets. He’d open each bag just a little bit to let the air out. Food was food, he hardly cared if it got stale! And he carefully slid them into each side. Though, he had gone a bit risky picking something as loud as chips but - it was the easiest thing to steal. Bracing himself, Murdoc zipped his jacket back up, gave himself a bounce, then slowly reached out and turned the knob of the old, rotting door.  
His father, like any other night, was sitting in an old waterlogged chair, drinking beer by the case, stuffing his fat face, and watching boring TV shows. This one surprisingly was a cooking show, Murdoc found this ironic - he doubted his father would ever try anything that could be considered work. Ever. Though, after staring dazed a few moments, peaking in the front door still - Murdoc spotted something on the Tele that made him physically wince. A Chef who had been hacking away at a rack of ribs had accidentally moved just a few inches too far - and slammed the clever down onto his own hand. He had gashed open his own knuckles, the crimson red was easy to spot dripping onto his red coat. But what got Murdoc worse, was instead of running off to get treated, instead the man walked over to the flat top - that was presumingly turned on previously in the show - and slammed his knuckles down on it, successfully cauterizing the gushing wound. He then… Continued to cook.  
Murdoc couldn’t help the gasp that slipped from his throat when he saw this, unfortunately altering his father to Murdoc's homecoming. He shuddered when he saw his dad turn to look at him, that cold gaze making Murdoc instantly shrink - only to feel the slight threat of a crackle from the chip bags he was currently smuggling, “Make yerself ushful boy…” He croaked in a low tone, slurring his words until they were almost incomprehensible, “Get me another beer!” He ordered, refusing to remove his piercing gaze from the boy until he moved.  
He felt like he was carrying a ticking time bomb in his jacket, slowly making the brutal walk across the living room feel even longer. His father let out an impatient growl, howling at the boy, “Hurry yer ass up ‘fore I give ye some motivation!” Murdoc swallowed at that threat, he still had bruises from the last time he’d angered his father. Murdoc picked up the pace, not moving his torso much, even as he opened the fridge and snatched a cold beer for his tad. Making the slow journey back to his father's chairside. Murdoc almost thought he was in the clear, reaching out to hand him the drink, when he unexpectedly reached out and snatched the boy's wrist, drunkenly crowing, “Come closer I can’t bloody reach it!”  
As Sebastian Niccals yanked his son forward, he lost balance, falling against the armrest of the chair. Murdoc’s heart fell into his stomach when he heard the unmistakable crinkle of chip bags. His father snatched the beer from Murdoc’s hand, slamming it down on the coffee table he had previously used as a footrest. “Whot. Was. Tha’?” He growled out, aggressively starting to tug and tear at Murdoc’s jacket - refusing to allow him a chance to unzip in, Murdoc had to frantically try to slid out of it. Though before he could run off his father's cold voice froze his feet to the floor. “Oh now yer stealin shit? Already skippin classes like a failure, d’ya just wanna end up like yer mum? Dead? ‘Cuz righ’ now yer useless!”  
Perhaps to another adult, his insults would have been weak - but to the young Murdoc, even the mentioning of his unknown mother wounded him. He also knew letting it show would only paint a bullseye on his back for his father to attack with rage. He couldn’t win, he could only take the beating that was sure to come in a few moments. It was all Murdoc’s fault for stupidly allowing himself to get distracted when he KNEW it could of ended like this. Sadly, he could say that he was used to it, though that didn’t prevent him from jumping when his father drunkenly snatched the empty bottle, tilting his head back to get the last few precious drops out - only to swing his arm down and end up smashing it against the table, “GODDAMNIT!” He shouted. Murdoc about jumped out of his skin, everything in his brain telling him to run, lock himself in his room whilst he had the chance but he couldn’t get his legs to work, he was paralyzed with fear.  
“You… You’ve been damned thorn in me side since the moment I found ye! I shoulda just left y’to starve!” He lunged for Murdoc, who only shut his eyes and bit back a cry of pain as his father's fingers snatched up his hair.  
Sebastian roughly through Murdoc's frail body to the ground, the sheer malnutrition from barely being fed caused each blow to his body to feel worse than it would usually. Murdoc’s eyes remained trained on the broken bottle his father carelessly swung around, trying to dodge it’s sharp corners despite that angering his father further. He tried to crawl away only to get dragged back, pain spiking through his ribs each time he attempted to move. It wasn’t until a rather nasty kick that sent Murdoc flying did he get a chance to move, only able to press himself into a small corner. The drunken man charged, deciding his left arm was tired, and oblivious to the sharp object that he still had a tight grip on. Murdoc threw his arms up in order to protect himself, only to earn a nasty gash along his forearm. Murdoc let out a cry of pain, unable to hold back his tears any longer. Whether it was a tiny inkling of pity, or simply the fact his father had gotten bored of torturing the poor boy - his beating ended with this.  
Murdoc held his hand over his arm, he could feel the warm blood trickling down to his elbow, and soaking into his shirt. He was bleeding so much but - you were supposed to put pressure on stuff like that right? He had a limited number of clothes, so he quickly dug in his drawers after retreating to the safety of his room. Desperately the poor boy tried to stop the bleeding, but it wouldn’t. He was starting to feel lightheaded, his heart was pounding - he didn’t know what to do!  
That was, until he remembered just what had distracted him earlier. The Chef show, where the guy cut himself horribly. What did he do? He burned it shut! Murdoc knew they had a gas stove - though who knows how long it’s been since it had been used. He also knew he had a lighter stashed away with his fags, and there were metal things in the kitchen. Maybe he could do what the chef did? He could burn it shut to stop the bleeding.  
Murdoc collected the proper ingredients before slowly making his way back to the living room. Hearing his father’s snores encouraging to continue, though he knew this was going to hurt like hell, and he was going to have to stay quiet enough as to not wake him. Murdoc lucked out when he found the gas hadn’t been turned off yet, and he slowly turned the knob on the stove - hearing the soft hiss indicating it was on. This next part was going to be dangerous, rolling up the sleeve of his good arm - Murdoc flicked the lighter on, in one quick motion flicking his hand towards the gas then quickly pulling back. He had almost yelped when the burner burst to life, a flame now burning brightly. He want to the drawers, quickly digging around for something metal, a butter knife would have to do. Carefully setting it over the fire, he waited and watched for the metal to turn red.  
It took longer than Murdoc hoped, and he knew his time was running short. Idiotically he had tried to grab the end of the knife with his bare hand - now realizing just HOW much this was going to hurt. Grabbing a stove mitten, and turning of the heat. He stuffed the bloodied shirt into his mouth, rolled up the sleeve on his bad arm, and pressed the hot metal against his wound before he had even a second to rethink this decision.  
Even though Murdoc’s voice was muffled, he swore he had screamed loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. He had no idea how long he needed to keep it on for in order to sear his wound closed, so he just left it on until he couldn’t physically bare the pain anymore. And… Surprisingly it had worked. Though he was in more pain he had been in for a very long while, Murdoc wasn’t bleeding anymore. He didn’t have the energy to clean up the mess, he didn’t even know if he could make it back to his room. But he tried, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he made his way back to his room. Very slowly, each step taking most of his focus to accomplish. The boy didn’t even pull up the covers when he finally collapsed onto the stiff mattress, he didn’t plan on going to school either. Maybe… Not for a couple days, until he could at least cover up how much pain he was in a little bit.


End file.
